It's All Muggle to Me
by Rejected Angel
Summary: “What are they called again? Discombobulaters, wasn’t it?” There was a brief pause. “I believe the term is ‘Coordinators’.” “Coordinators, Discombobulaters whatever. It’s all muggle to me.” A look at the whole ‘genetic war’ from a slightly…different persp


Summary: "What are they called again? Discombobulaters, wasn't it?" There was a brief pause. "I believe the term is 'Coordinators'." "Coordinators, Discombobulaters- whatever. It's all muggle to me." A look at the whole 'genetic war' from a slightly…different perspective. Crossover OneShot.

Disclaimer: Gundam SEED and Harry Potter do not belong to me. I do own Findus Wiggam and Desdemona Fiddle, though.

A/N: The line "It's all muggle to me." Had to be incorporated somewhere, and this was the perfect fic for the job.

It's All Muggle to Me 

Findus Wiggam, a stout, balding man of sixty-three, glanced at his pocket watch for the fifth time in the past twenty minutes. He, for all his faults, could certainly not be called unpunctual. In fact, he had made it one of his most fundamental life goals to always be on time. His lunch break, which had started exactly twenty-five minutes previously, would be over in precisely thirty minutes, and he had still not eaten. The reason for this was that he was also undeniably polite, and it was incredibly rude, in his opinion, to eat lunch without your invited lunch guest…even if they _were_ twenty minutes late.

Heaving a long-suffering sigh of hunger and exasperation, he tucked his pocket watch back into the inside pocket of his pinstriped burgundy robes, allowing his eyes to once again fall to the muggle newspaper that lay open on his lap. However, after resigning himself to continue reading a particularly mundane article about some hooligans knocking over a dustbin in Shaftsbury the previous evening, he heard the distinctive sound of the chair across from him being pulled out and sat in.

"Honestly, Mona, couldn't you have decided to be only _slightly _late today?"

Desdemona Fiddle, simply put, was Findus' opposite in almost every way. It was a wonder to many, then, including themselves, why they were such good friends at all. To most of their colleagues, their friendship was proof that some things in life were simply inexplicable.

Indeed, their friendship had been an enigma even during their Hogwarts days; he, a Slytherin, and she, a Gryffindor, had caused quite stir between their two opposing houses. They probably would have started an all-out feud, had it not been for the fact that their respective houses _already_ considered both of them incredibly strange. Back then, the two of them had been thought of as inexorable proof that the Sorting Hat was seldom very particular. After all, ambition and courage are not particularly linear traits: Findus being sorted into Slytherin for his overwhelming ambition to become the head of the Ministry's Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department, and Desdemona being sorted into Gryffindor due to her oftentimes troublesome ability to say exactly what was on her mind in any situation- a feat that required a great deal of courage.

"Well, unlike a certain chrome-domed cabbage," Came her thickly Irish accented reply, "I happen to have more than one person to talk to." Noticing the item on his lap, she gave a loud snort of disdain. "Honestly, Findus, when are you going to stop reading that muggle nonsense?" She leaned forward and dropped her voice a decibel lower. This, however, was not out of discretion, as many people would assume, but rather because she simply felt like it. "Everyone around here already thinks you're completely barmy, 'cause you keep saying those ridiculous things about muggles. If you don't stop with this psychotic fixation soon, you'll be shipped off to St. Mungo's."

Knowing of his best friend's tendency to exaggerate, he did not deign to become offended. "If that were the case, they would have "shipped me off to St. Mungo's" a long time ago, Mona. And my interest in muggle affairs is hardly 'psychotic'; this war they are fighting poses a large threat to both the wizarding public and theirs."

Desdemona put her hand to her chin, her wrinkled face scrunching up in thought, before inquiring, "What was it that they were fighting about again? I can never seem to recall."

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at her blatant ignorance, replying, "Surely even _you _should know that, Mona." Merely receiving a blank look, he sighed in resignation. "Very well, then. The long and short of it is that a few decades ago a group of wealthy muggles decided to enhance their children by way of some type muggle science- can never remember the exact term. Anyway, the offspring produced by this process were shunned by the majority of muggle society, causing most of them to flee to structures in outer space called 'space colonies'. Recently, mainly due to economic reasons, a war has broken out between the normal muggles and the enhanced ones."

A look of recognition spread across her features. "Oh yes, I remember now. What are they called again? Discombobulaters, wasn't it?"

There was a brief pause. "I believe the term is 'Coordinators'."

She once again snorted loudly with disdain. "Coordinators, Discombobulaters- whatever. It's all muggle to me."

He raised a bushy eyebrow. "You do know that a number of wizarding families attempted to do the same thing as well, right?"

Desdemona blinked in astonishment. "Really? Why on earth would they do such a thing? Muggles, I can understand, but _wizards_?"

"Arrogance, I suppose." He reached into his briefcase and brought out a sandwich wrapped neatly in brown paper, which he promptly placed in front of him. Continuing with his previous vein, he said, "Needless to say, muggle science and wizarding magic do not bode well with each other; all of their enhanced children were born as squibs." He unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite, Desdemona following suit.

This continued for about five minutes, before he once again began to speak. "Can you see how this could become a potentially huge security risk?"

His companion, mouth still stuffed with a bite of ham sandwich, mumbled something that sounded roughly like "How so?". Findus, having known her for long enough to discern such things, replied in turn. "Squibs are not officially considered muggles until a third generation is born without magic. Usually this isn't a problem, because so few squibs are ever born. However, for the first time ever we have a relatively large number of squibs, all with a somewhat influential part in muggle society.

"Can you imagine the type of chaos that would break out should one of these squibs somehow reconnect with their wizarding roots, considering that it is illegal to erase their memories?"

Desdemona's face took on a pensive look. "Hmm…you're right. I can see how that might be a problem." Suddenly, something dawned on her. "That's right…wasn't there a big fuss about the new custodian working at Hogwarts a few years ago? Something about Headmistress Weasley allowing a potentially huge security risk…"

Findus nodded in affirmation. "Indeed, he is one of _those_ types of squibs. That post, as you well know, has been traditionally given to squibs. So obviously he- what was his name again…ah yes, Eric Knott- was eligible for the job. He was lucky that Weasley is so influential, or else he might have never gotten it."

His best friend did a double take. "Wait a tick…Knott? As in pureblood, vehemently _anti-muggle_ Knott?"

"One and the same. Believe it or not, it was actually mostly wealthy _pureblood_ families who participated in this." He frowned. "I can imagine it caused quite an upset, too. There are rumors that many of them abandoned these children once they found out that they were squibs." He shook his head mournfully. "Such a pity."

Frowning as well, Desdemona let her gaze fall to the charmed window beside them. "This must be a huge rallying point for the anti-muggle stand-point."

Findus' expression turned even sourer. "I'll say. Do you know that there are an entire group of dark wizards that have set out to destroy 'Coordinators'? Even joined some muggle terrorist group called 'Blue Cosmos'." He picked up his half-eaten sandwich, and, deciding he was full, discarded it into the dustbin behind his chair. "I believe the reason was something along the lines of how completely 'unmagical' they are, and how they pose a threat to the muggles that can still produce wizarding children. Completely loony, if you ask me."

Desdemona nodded her agreement. "Yes, yes- completely loony. Then again, most things involving muggles are." She rolled her eyes. "I mean, honestly, who but _muggles _would fight such a stupid war in the first place?"

Findus did not bother to mention the fact that similar conflicts had arisen in the wizarding world because of arguments concerning the importance of bloodlines, knowing that it would merely fly right over her head. Instead, he checked his pocket watch. "Well, would you look at that, lunch is already over."

Desdemona blinked. "Really? We must have really gotten into that conversation." Taking one last bite out of her sandwich, she stood up and turned to walk to her office. Swallowing, she said, "Same place tomorrow, right?"

Her friend gave a curt nod, even though he knew she couldn't see him. "Same place tomorrow."

Gathering his things, he also began to make his way back to his office…but not before making sure that the newspaper was folded in such a way that he could read a frightfully interesting article about a genius porpoise named Bill.

End

A/N: This was incredibly fun to write! I hope whoever read this enjoyed it.


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